Covalent Bonds
by TrenchcoatsAreSexy
Summary: House and Wilson run into trouble in a consult in NM...


**Note: There's a fair amount of plot holes and what-not up ahead... I just decided to see what fun I could have with a crossover of two of my favorite shows :D  
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**Covalent Bonds**

Wilson winced. Every inch of him appeared to be covered in a fiery red sunburn, and on top of that red were teeny red bumps from what must have been every mosquito in the state of New Mexico, all come to feast upon tasty Wilson flesh.

It was one of those times when he yet again questioned his willingness to go along with House's crazy schemes.

The sunburn may have even hurt more than the bullet hole that had been patched up in his leg, but that still hurt a fair bit, too.

"Remind me why this was any sort of a good idea, House."

"Tritter got the charges dropped," House replied with a triumphant smile. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Tritter didn't do anything. Cuddy dropped the charges on you after she found out I got shot."

"Well… it's the principle of the thing," House replied. "I think you need a hug."

"Be careful," Wilson warned, "This could go from comforting to painful in five seconds." House limped over to the side of Wilson's hospital bed and gently curled one arm around his back, where he wasn't quite as burnt, and gave a soft squeeze.

"Thank you?" the diagnostician said with a smile.

"Why did I ever let you talk me into this?"

**Two Days Before**

"I hate Albuquerque," Wilson mumbled as he drove down the inter-state, keeping an eye out for the road he needed to get on. "I can feel the skin cancer coursing through my body. Downside to being an oncologist."

"You're driving too slow," House complained. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"If you want to drive so badly, you should." Wilson paused and smirked. "Oh that's right, I remember – your license is suspended because you… drove your car into Cuddy's house. As I recall." House raised his middle finger in the air. "Am I here just as a driver, or because this will definitely turn out to simply be a case of lung cancer? Have we flown and driven all this way so I can just look at a scan and go 'yeah, it's cancer'?" House sighed.

"Tritter thinks it's something else."

"Tritter hopes it's something else so that this ex-DEA bigshot will owe him one and give him a job," Wilson corrected. "So he's calling in all his old favors." House shrugged.

"Maybe the Albuquerque doctors _did_ miss something. It's not as if it hasn't been known to happen."

"This whole trip is a waste of time," Wilson complained.

"If it is, then I'll make it up to you," House promised.

"How?"

Luckily for House, he was saved from responding by the fact that he and Wilson had just arrived at the address written on House's index card – 308 Negra Arroyo Lane.

"So the plan is to just knock on this man's door and ask if he'd like a second opinion? Or did Tritter tell his friend to tell his brother-in-law that we're actually coming? And can I remind you that we wouldn't even be here right now had you not decided to drive your car into…"

Wilson's monologue was cut off as House popped open his door and made his way to the front door of a large house. Wilson let out another sigh as he shut off the car and opened the door, following after House and wondering just how bad an idea this was. What did they know about this… Wilson reeled through his head for the name again… Walter White, anyway?

Before Wilson could remind House that this was still a really bad idea and could not conceivably stop from being so, the door to the house opened just as House walked through the front gate. A blonde woman in her forties, curvy and with a look of either deep irritation or strict determination on her face, exited and began her way down the steps, without looking at House.

"Hey!" House called. "I'm looking for Walter White."

"Yeah?" the woman retorted. "Well, so am I. Join the club. Who are you?" She cocked an eyebrow up suspiciously as Wilson strode over and stood at House's side, ready to extract the older doctor from the situation if this woman began throwing punches or anything of that sort.

"I'm Dr. House," House replied, then gestured with his shoulder towards Wilson, "And this is Dr. Wilson. We were asked to be consulting doctors for Mr. White. Do you know where we might be able to find him?" The woman shrugged.

"I've been trying to get in touch with him," she said, and gave a sigh. "I'm his wife. Skyler White. If I run into him, I'll let you know." She continued out the door and House leaned in to Wilson surreptitiously.

"Two cars. Means one of them is probably his. Why would he go somewhere and leave his car there?"

"Cheating?" Wilson suggested.

"Come on, Wilson. Think from experience." Wilson glowered at him. "You don't leave your car while you go out to cheat. Unless you have a really big house, your wife _will_ get that you're not there. Mr. White must have left in a hurry."

"But where did he go?" Wilson asked, before following it up with, "And do we care?" He placed one hand on top of his arm and winced. He was turning a bright red and he wanted to ask House to stop for him to buy some sunblock, but House obviously had his tunnel vision on.

"I can give you doctor-patient confidentiality," House said to Skyler quickly. "But I need to know if there's anything I should know about your husband. Give me all the information on his medical history as you can – we'll help you find him and I'll try and see if I can help him." Skyler looked skeptical.

_Oh, WE will, will we?_ Wilson thought to himself.

"I want to see your credentials," she demanded, and House pulled out his hospital badge.

"Can show you my medical license and everything." The diagnostician gave Skyler a cheeky grin.

A few moments later, House knew all he needed to know about Walter White, except for where the man actually was.

"He has a condo," Skyler told him. "Maybe you'll find more information there? I don't know how to get in, though – I was going to call the locksmith…" But House and Wilson were already in the car as she gave them the address and climbed in the back.

There were many interesting things to be found at Walter White's bachelor pad condo. One was a plastic eye that was hidden in a drawer. Try as he might, House couldn't figure it out.

"Why would you keep an eye in your drawer?" House wondered out loud. Wilson shook his head.

"Why are we even here?" he replied.

"Try calling his cell phone," House suggested, "Does it have a GPS on it?"

"I don't know," Skyler admitted, "He has two – I'm not sure which one he might have brought with him." House raised an eyebrow. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, right?" She asked with a sigh. "He manufactures methamphetamine."

"Could that be an environmental factor?" Wilson inquired. Maybe House was on to something. Skyler shook her head.

"It started after he got diagnosed."

House tilted his head to the side.

"Interesting." Skyler glared at him and grabbed the phone, dialing a number. "Do you know where his meth lab is?" House continued.

"It didn't really come up in conversation," Skyler replied acidly.

"Albuquerque's a big city," Wilson pointed out.

"GPS is a bust. It's just showing a general part of town. I don't know what's there that…"

"Get me a map," House ordered. Skyler rolled her eyes.

As it turned out, that general part of Albuquerque was home to a large laundry facility, one which, in fact, was home to Walter White's meth lab. It was also where Walter White and his business associate, the young Jesse Pinkman, had just been held captive for a number of hours, and from where they were currently exiting, more than a little surprised to actually still be alive.

It would be hard to say whether Walt or Jesse was more surprised to find themselves facing two men, one of which was standing impatiently and leaning on a cane, instead of the cab Walt had called for.

"Yo, who are you?" Jesse inquired harshly.

"I'm Dr. Wilson, this is Dr. House," Wilson explained. "We were consulted about your medical condition, Mr. White, and we wanted to perhaps run a few tests so you could get a second opinion on your cancer."

"And you followed me here?" Walt barked. House opened his eyes wide.

"Well, there's no need to yell," he replied.

"Yes, there is," Walt fired back, "You don't know what you've just walked into…"

House and Wilson got a much better idea of what they had just walked into when the sound of a gunshot cracked in their direction; Wilson could hear a bullet whiz by his head and he yelped in surprise.

"We all need to run – or we die," Walt told them quickly.

"Uh, running's not really on my list of strong suits," House pointed out. "We may need a different plan. Why are we being shot at?"

"Does it matter?" Wilson cut in.

"Maybe?"

"Those are my… employers," Walt hissed. "The way you're dressed, they probably think you're DEA!"

"Do you think they'd take a friendly explanation?" House cut in. Another bullet whizzed by his bad leg.

"Um, no?" Jesse replied. "We need to go, yo!"

"Wilson," House suggested, "We need to drive your car…" But Wilson wasn't responding; he was doubled over on the ground and clutching his leg, moaning.

"They shot me," he managed to get out.

"We need to go!" House declared, reaching down and expertly pulling Wilson's keys out of his pockets.

"I'll deal with this," Walt told them. "You take your… friend, and get out of here…"

"I'll drive them," Jesse cut in. "Neither of them can probably drive like this – House's got a bad leg," Jesse gestured, as if to be sure he was using the right name, "and Wilson's shot so, fuck, give me those keys." He snatched them out of House's hand and swiftly moved towards Wilson's car. House gripped Wilson's hand in his and pulled him to his feet.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "But I can't carry you. It's not too far to the car though, just move as fast as you can." Twelve unbearably painful steps later, Wilson was in the car.

And two men, one an older man with white hair and the other a black man of around the same age who wore glasses, were walking towards the car.

"Mr. White!" Jesse screamed out, watching as Walt held out a gun – _had he had it the whole time?_, House wondered – and fired. The white-haired man went down but the black man was still going, and Jesse slammed the car into gear and burst forward, running straight into him.

Wilson remembered yelling something about the Hippocratic Oath and how they should really stop and see if the man was all right, and House responding that he was an idiot. Then his world faded to black.

In the hospital, as he half-slept, Wilson heard House talking with Jesse.

"You're not as much of an idiot as he seems to make you think you are. And if you've got a knack for science, as you obviously do – why not college? Med school? Why… your chosen profession?"

"Yo, Dr. House… I appreciate the offer, man, but I… I failed Mr. White's Chemistry class. 'Apply yourself' was what he wrote on every single one of my tests."

"Then why not… I don't know… apply yourself?"

"I am."

**Present Day**

"You were going to offer that kid a fellowship if he'd actually gone past high school," Wilson accused as he winced again.

"If he shows up again with a medical degree, I still might," House replied. "Kid's got potential."

"Yeah, sure," Wilson retorted. He reached over and thrust a file in House's direction. "Lung cancer. Just like I told you." House hugged him again. "You're not getting out of this that easy." House hugged him a little tighter. "Or maybe you are."

THE END


End file.
